Red Eye | Season 2 | Episode 3 Read online

  There were so many bodies on the ground, in various states of ruin—some perfect except for a chunk of flesh missing…those could have been sleeping. They’re just sleeping. But some were dismembered to the point of pale bone peeking from torn-asunder limbs. There was no escaping that reality. I sidestepped a pile of intestines, sickly pink spaghetti like a Pollock painting on the ground.

  I heard Barrett grunt and lunge and my attention shifted to watch him shove a military-issue knife into a zombie’s eye. I couldn’t actually hear the squelching sound over the sickening chorus around us, but I could imagine it. An arc of vitreous fluid sprayed out from around the blade as Barrett jerked it back outward. I should have been grossed out. I should have wanted to vomit. Instead, I found myself wondering what the pale gray fluid tasted like. The zombie wasn’t very old. Would it still taste human? God, what is wrong with me…

  I watched the knife move.

  It was wet and intriguing and I licked my lips before I could think through what I was doing. All of the danger. All of the death.

  And I want to lick a fucking knife. I want to taste the fluid…then sink my teeth into a still-alive body and compare the differences like they are two dishes made in different ways.

  Pot Pie à la Zombie.

  Pot Pie à la Human.

  All’s well that eats well in hell’s kitchen.

  Barrett spun me around, positioning me on the other side of him as his arm came up with the knife again. This time it caught a would-be assaulter in the side of the head, plunging into the ear and deep into the brain. It used to be a woman. Bleach-blond hair stained with blood. Eyes an unsettling red shade. Face so, so pale.

  I knew the moment the lights went off, though she was already dead. The red eyes, though, faded to a milky pale and she collapsed as soon as Barrett retrieved his knife. That did turn my stomach.

  Because it was like I was seeing my future. There would be a time when I could not control what was happening, of that I was sure, and then someone would shove a knife into my brain. Or a bullet. And the crimson would fade to ghost.

  “Stay with me, Sam,” Barrett shouted, whirling me around once more.

  We danced together for a moment, not advancing but avoiding. There were so many of the dead around us, closing in step by step. Barrett pulled me to his body; I pressed against the front of him and could smell bodily fluids.

  “Hold onto me,” he commanded, as he fought with both hands. I was pulled along in a morbid foxtrot. The tempo was set to the rate of wounds Barrett was creating.

  A slash.

  A puncture.

  Kill after kill.

  And I was glad that dance was so ingrained in my mind that I could fall into step so easily. It was my body’s muscle memory, riding a bicycle in the middle of an apocalypse. Part of me wanted to help Barrett; I’d proven I could fight and I knew I wasn’t useless. But god…the smell of his body against me. The sweat and the death. Instead of trying to be helpful, I pressed my face into his clothing and I darted my tongue out quickly.

  It tasted good.

  So damn good.

  “Sam!” Barratt yelled, pushing me away. “Keep it together, dammit!”

  But all I saw was red.

  All I felt was the burning hunger in my throat clawing its way up.

  Lava in my soul, burning through my bones.

  One of the dead was close enough to touch. It was newly dead, barely minutes old. I could smell the blood in its body altering. I leaped away from Barrett. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to hurt the thing that was trying to hurt us. I needed to stop it. I had to stop it.

  Tunnel vision.

  Everything was a shade of red.

  The world wasn’t rose-colored.

  I didn’t need glasses to see a better life.

  Crimson.

  Burgundy transparency…the chiffon of a dance costume in seventh grade.

  Cherry bomb. The color of my wedding day shoes.

  Macintosh apples.

  My dad’s favorite.

  I gripped the monster with my bare hands and sank my teeth into its neck. I felt how warm the blood still was, how alive it still felt, though beneath that first rush of vitality was the taint of grave. My hands reached up and I gripped each side of the zombie’s head. I dug my fingers into its scalp. My hands felt so strong, composed of iron fucking resolve. I was strong. That was all that mattered in that moment. That and the hot metal pouring into my mouth. I bit harder and jerked back my head, ripping away a chunk of neck. Simultaneously, I drove my nails into the head, deeper. I crushed and pressed until I heard a sickening crack and everything collapsed inward.

  Riding the body to the ground, I chewed on the chunk of used-to-be-human jerky.

  It was all I could care about.

  The feeling of the skin and layer of fat in my mouth. The taste of the blood still seasoning it all.

  Something touched my shoulder and I spun around, snarling.

  Barrett rocked back, his hands held up in a surrendering gesture. “It’s me, Sam. It’s just me.”

  I blinked, my mouth becoming slack and the flesh falling from my lips. “Oh my god,” I whimpered. “What is happening to me?” I hit myself on the head, trying to force out the recollection of what I’d just done.

  Barrett risked touching me, pulling me up from the ground and lifting me into his arms. He ran, and I shut my eyes tightly. I didn’t want to see any more danger. I didn’t want my mouth to taste like zombie and blood, a strange combination of death and delight.

  “What is happening to me?” I whispered again. “What is happening…what is happening… what is happening.” I covered my face with my hands, because shutting my eyes wasn’t enough to block everything out. Nothing was enough.

  ***

  I didn’t drop my hands and open my eyes again until Barrett lowered me to the ground. It felt like forever; I think I would have been okay if it had been—just an endless eternity of blocking out what I’d done.

  Around me, the world was dark once more as it had been in the tent. I heard a metallic slam and shuffling noises nearby. I searched the space as my eyes adjusted. Heavy painted wooden crates, some heavy-duty plastic instead with metal latches, duffel bags, a single cot in the corner of the building that was heavily reinforced compared to the slapped-together structures that had housed civilian survivors. No proper floors, but it looked like the walls extended deep into the ground. Someone would have to be really determined to try and dig their way in.

  “Where are we?” I pulled myself to a standing position, despite feeling a rush of weakness as I began to move. Barrett was a shadow not far away.

  “Weapons store,” he said; his breathing was shallow and quick from carrying me while running. “Only building here that’s solid.” He tapped gently on the door he was blocking. “Lock would break with one swift kick, so we need to make sure no one’s getting the fuck in.” He lifted another crate, bending at the knees and grumbling under his breath.

  “I can help.” I walked over and stood next to one of the crates.

  He joined me, his gaze flicking to my face before looking away furtively. It was then I realized what I must look like—human again, no longer controlled by whatever sickness made me attack and feed from a zombie.

  “Oh god,” I lifted my arm and tried to wipe at my mouth with the shoulder of my shirt.

  “That’s…not helping,” Barrett said bluntly, giving me the barest of glances. “Let’s secure the room first, then we’ll clean you up.”

  “Is it so bad that you won’t look at me?” The question was barely audible passing between my lips. “I thought…I thought nothing would scare you away.”

  Now he did look at me, long and hard. “You were like an animal, Sam. But it was one of those things. It wasn’t human. I’m not scared of you.”

  The last sentence was a lie, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself because he was built like a lumberjack and handled illegal items for a living. Men like Barrett
didn’t admit they were scared.

  Together, we carried several more of the oversized crates to press against the door. I was grateful that the building, whatever it was made of, blocked more of the war outside its walls than the tent material did.

  “I feel better. The blood, it doesn’t smell so strong in here.” I tilted my head back and sniffed gently at the air. It smelled clean.

  “People would be coming in and out”—Barrett appraised the space—“but they wouldn’t be living in here.”

  “There’s a cot.” I turned and pointed. “Someone did.”

  “Protecting the weapons.” He nodded. “This is the safest place I could find. We just need to wait it out, Sam. It’ll give us time to figure out our next step.”

  “Our next step is to find Rose.” I spoke defiantly, daring him to say otherwise. “I’m not going anywhere unless it’s toward Las Vegas.”

  Barrett considered me, his mouth a straight, unreadable line. “The city of sin… Again, I can’t imagine running toward that during this shitstorm. It’s like I told the others: my crew makes the monsters look tame and they own that town. Still, safety in numbers I suppose.”

  “Well, imagine it, Barrett. I’m getting to Rose. You can come along or not.” I crossed my arms and straightened my spine like my ballet master was coming around with her cane, ready to slap it across the shoulder blades of anyone who slouched.

  He chuckled then, a deep sound that resonated. “You’re terrifying,” he said slowly, mouth quirked. “It’ll take a miracle for Rose and them to survive without me, Sam. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said going into Vegas meant I needed to take charge. You going by yourself? Fucking dead.” He cracked his neck, his long braid swishing in and out of sight before settling against his back once more.

  “I’d be fine,” I said fiercely, fists clenching at my sides. If only you could settle arguments by dance battle in the middle of an apocalypse. With Barrett’s physique, he wouldn’t stand a chance…even if he was able to slink like sex as he walked, always in complete control of his movements. I bit my lip involuntarily. Apparently, heightened hunger wasn’t the only thing heightened inside of me nowadays.

  “Sure you would be. And the first time you had one of your goddamn zombie fits, someone who didn’t know you would put a fucking bullet in your brain.” He lifted his hand, forming it into a gun shape, and he made a soft click sound with his tongue. Even then, being crass and mean, he was handsome. I hated him for that.

  I felt anger rush into my body again, filling my lungs with volcanic ash smoke and my chest with flame so hot it faded to a searing white. The rage cauterized my insides. If I wasn’t careful, all I’d be is fury and scar tissue.

  Enough of me still existed, though, that I was glad for the way Barrett’s eyes widened when I advanced a step—it made me feel powerful. My vision morphed from human-normal to those blood-hued glasses that made the world an enticing shade of “dinner.”

  Hungry.

  Chapter Two.

  “Sam, calm down.” Barrett stood strong, but it was obvious that he wanted to step back from me.

  “You act like you’re so fucking macho, Barrett. Like nothing in the world scares you. But I can taste it. I can taste your fear. Do you want to know what it feels like in my mouth? How your sweat is sweet? How the fluid from the people you’ve killed clings to you like…like icing on a fucking cake? God.” I turned from him, arms crossing over my body as I tried to swallow down the animal that was trying to rear up inside; its claws were ready. I could hurt Barrett—kill him, even. I knew I could. My body shifted to face him again.

  “I know this isn’t easy, Sam.” The big man was holding the soiled knife in his hand. I looked down at it.

  “Are you going to use that on me?” I nodded my head at it, studying the blade that still needed cleaning…It probably tasted like so much acrid, honeyed death. My tongue forced its way out of my mouth, running a wet trail over my lips.

  “Of course not. Sam.” Barrett’s fingers flexed around the knife, but he slowly bent down to set it on the ground between us. “See? I’m not a threat to you. I never will be.”

  “You can’t promise that.” I moved forward, only a half step, but it was enough for Barrett’s gaze to flick down to the weapon he’d just relinquished. “See? You’re thinking about it even now—how easy it would be to kill me just like you killed the monsters outside. But I’m a monster too, Barrett. I’m losing it. Can’t you see I’m losing it?” Another half step forward. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just kill me? Right now. Right here. So much easier than trying to save me.”

  “Rose would never forgive me,” Barrett tried to joke, his smile halfhearted. “That little Brit would cut off my balls if I hurt you.”

  The mention of Rose made some of the red fade away.

  “Rose isn’t here. She’s gone. And for all we know her helicopter won’t even make it to Vegas. And then how are we going to find her?”

  The red vision faded further.

  Instead of the inferno of a volcanic explosion, I felt a seed of sadness grow in my chest. Everything felt tight and suffocating.

  “Like I said, I’ve got friends in Vegas. They’re good at…finding things. And people.” Barrett shoved his hands into his pockets, his body relaxing as the danger faded.

  “Friends,” I said blankly. “You keep saying friends. But I wonder what kind of friends they are, Barrett.” I walked forward fast, advancing quickly enough that Barrett tried to sidestep me and simultaneously bend over to reach for the knife. I kicked out at the blade and it went spinning away from his grip.

  The grief over losing Rose was gone as fast as it had come.

  And the red vision was no longer fading.

  “Stop fucking moving,” I growled, reaching toward him, making a grab for his backpack’s straps. He let me touch them, even let me pull him closer to my body. But when I went to walk behind him and unzip the bag, he stopped me.

  His hand clamped around my wrist like a vise. “Leave it the fuck alone, Sam. All you need to know is that I have people who can help find Rose, if that’s what you want.”

  I pushed him again with my free hand. The alien strength was coursing through my body again and he actually moved from the force. “That is what I fucking want.” I went for the backpack again and he fended me off. “I want the truth, Barrett!” I shouted, my voice guttural and warped.

  “Stop it, Sam. I will hurt you if necessary,” he snapped back, but his words fell on deaf, zomming-out ears.

  “You can’t fucking hurt me.” I fought back, nails vying for purchase against his skin. Everything was a horror film—all I saw was that vein in his neck, pulsing and calling to me. The need was a roller coaster, up and down, exhilarating and sickening all at once.

  But then I smelled fresh blood.

  Not hidden beneath the layers of Barrett’s skin.

  No, this was contacting open air, oxidizing and changing.

  My eyes flitted across every inch of his body that I could see until I found his arm, where there were now three scratches. One was deep enough to well up with blood. I pounced, jumping into the air and straddling his body like a deranged circus monkey.

  I had to taste him. I had to.

  “Goddammit,” Barrett cursed, trying to wrestle me away. “Why are you so fucking strong? You’re”—he grunted and pushed—“half”—he stumbled us a few feet to the right—“my size,” he breathed out before lifting me with shaking arms and slamming me into the side of the building.

  I fell, catlike, to the floor, shaking my head to get rid of the stars that had blossomed from the impact. I was in a crouched position, ready to strike again.

  I was just so fucking hungry.

  I just need one taste. One lick.

  That was all, and then I’d be okay.

  I was completely swallowed up in the need, mouth wet with drool.

  Barrett would taste good. The tobacco and earth and murder that swirled around him like a n
oxious…delicious haze.

  He was moving to the side of me and picking something up. I heard a creak and a thud.

  But I was debating my next move, to feed the desire inside. The monster I held within my body—the virus or the illness or the mutation—could only concentrate on so much at once. I’d knock his legs from under him. That’s how I’d do it. I’d get him to the ground. He wouldn’t be able to stop me.

  I felt a rush of air that kicked my animalistic instincts into high alert. I looked up just in time to see the butt of an automatic rifle headed toward my face.

  Then the world went black.

  ***

  I woke up to a damp face and water being drizzled into my mouth. The next sensation was how freaking badly I needed to pee.

  “Shit.” Barrett’s voice had fallen into a deeper accent than I’d ever heard it before. “Didn’t think you were ever going to wake up.” He lifted me to a sitting position, his hands rough on my skin.

  I blinked. “Did you…did you hit me with a gun?” My mouth hung open a little, not believing that someone had actually done that. I’d only ever seen it in movies. Someone poking around where they shouldn’t be, or completely out of control, and the “good guy” slams them in the face with the butt of a rifle to knock them out. That had just happened to me. “Ouch,” I muttered, reaching up to touch my face gently. I was sat leaning against the cot, but even the pressure of the sling material was hurting my head. After touching my face, I gingerly lifted my head and tiptoed cautious fingers across the back of my scalp.

  “You’ll be fine,” Barrett said without an ounce of apology, though I couldn’t blame him for not feeling bad for knocking me out. “You hit one of the crates when you fell. I couldn’t catch you in time.”

  “How bad was I?” I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to know. “Did I…did I hurt you?”

  Barrett bellowed out a loud laugh. “Little itty bitty you? Fuck no.”

  I scowled at his mocking. Everything was so fuzzy… The first few times I’d zommed out, I’d remembered what had happened. This time, I didn’t recall much. Except… “Oh my god. Your arm.” I scrambled off the cot and searched over Barrett’s skin until I found the three thin lines. “I’m so sorry…God. Do you think that’s enough to infect you? Did I infect you?” Panic was rising inside of me, the first tinges of pink creeping into my eyesight.